


Solstice Dawn

by Alexander_L



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Feels, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Rare Pairings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:06:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_L/pseuds/Alexander_L
Summary: After the fall of Garreg Mach, Sylvain and Ferdinand were forced to part ways until four years later Ferdinand shows up on the doorstep of Gautier Manor with news from Claude that there might be hope for the Resistance. Sylvain lost hope a long time ago but if anyone can make him believe that the fight isn't over and a brighter future lies ahead, it's Ferdinand.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 35





	1. Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> Aha! I emerge from a month-long hiatus (slump of depressed writers block) victorious at last! Please accept these crumbs of rare pair content that I humbly offer as recompense for my absence.

As the rest of the world cursed the frigid winter of 1185, Sylvain stood knee-deep in snow on a ridge overlooking the lands of southern Gautier territory and watched the gusts of wind ripping at the ice-laden boughs of skeleton trees in relief.

The best endeavors of the Faerghus Resistance had amounted to little when it came to holding back the encroaching forces of Edelgard’s armies, but no amount of dark magic and heavy armor could fight the powers of nature, not in a record-breaking cold snap like this. Even if the Ethereal Moon air froze the breath in his lungs, Sylvain would still breathe easier knowing that, for now at least, Faerghus would see some reprieve.

Come the spring they would likely be crushed, the last of their strongholds overwhelmed and the last of their houses either bought or broken. But for now… 

“Looks like the pass is snowed shut,” Captain Hannalore said. “No one’s getting in from the south. We need only hold the eastern borders now.”

“Now we’re only fucked if Derdriu falls. Let’s just hope it holds through the winter and keeps them from gaining a clear path to our borders,” Sylvain replied. He climbed up onto the saddle of his horse and tucked his fur cloak tighter around him. “Let’s get back home before we freeze to death.”

Hanna swung into the saddle of her highland pegasus but because the icy wind was too sharp and buffeting to allow safe flight, the steed was forced to walk alongside Sylvain’s warhorse as he led their band of scouts down the steep trail. Sylvain kept silent as they rode, summoning a palmful of fire magic to his hands and holding it close to his chest to keep himself warm.

It was a slow, perilous trek down from the mountains to return to Gautier Manor, but Sylvain traversed the icy roads alongside sheer drops into ravines without concern. He was too cold to muster the energy to be concerned.

It was twilight by the time they reached the gates of the manor and instantly he was beset with guards rushing up to him shouting his name.

“What?” he said irritably, dismounting and stomping his numb feet to bring some feeling back into them.

“There’s a fucking imperial spy here claiming to be a friend of yours. That’s what,” one of them said. “We have him tied up in the gatehouse. We were going to shoot him dead the moment he knocked on the gates but we figured you might want to interrogate him first.”

The news piqued his interest a little, but weariness dogged him too much to entirely care.

“Alright, let me see him,” Sylvain replied, following the guard back to the gatehouse. “Did he give his name?”

“No. Idiot just kept repeating that he was an old friend of yours and asking to see you.”

“Not a very good spy then. How’d he even get across our borders?”

“He came from Derdriu. He’s dressed in Alliance garb,” the guard answered.

_ “If Derdriu falls…” _ The skin on the back of Sylvain’s neck pricked with needles of dread.

As the heavy oaken door to the gatehouse creaked open and Sylvain stepped inside, he held his breath. But when he blinked and his eyes adjusted to the bright lantern light, he caught sight of the man bound to the chair and the breath escaped his lips in a gasp as sharply as if it had been kicked from his lungs.

Golden eyes stared up at him, bright with emotion, and Sylvain froze, rooted to the spot as his heart lurched and pounded.

“Sylvain,” Ferdinand murmured, smiling even though his bottom lip was split and bloodied.

Sylvain turned to the nearest guard and ordered breathlessly, “Give me your knife!” When the man hesitated, he glared at him and snapped, “Your knife! Now!”

The guard handed it over and Sylvain rushed over to Ferdinand to cut through the ropes binding his wrists and ankles.

“Oh goddess… Ferdie, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I-”

But he was interrupted by Ferdinand stumbling to his feet and seizing him in a hug. For a moment Sylvain was too stunned to move, then he wrapped his arms around Ferdinand and held him, burying his face in the warm crook of his neck and clutching him tightly. 

_ You’re alive, _ Sylvain wanted to say.  _ It’s such a relief to see you. _ Or maybe  _ I missed you more than you can imagine. _ But the words stuck in his throat and when Ferdinand finally let go of him and stepped back, all Sylvain could do was stare at him in shock.

“I come with important news from a mutual friend,” Ferdinand said. “Can we speak of it in private?”

“Of course,” he replied, stirring from his daze. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up.”

Ferdinand’s steps were a little shaky and Sylvain kept a hand on his back as they walked to the front doors of Gautier Manor.

“My father is in Fraldarius with Rodrigue,” Sylvain explained, then added, “Thank Seiros. I think he would have given you even less of a warm welcome than my guards did.” He glanced at Ferdinand worriedly. “I’m so sorry they treated you like this. I wish I’d been here so I could have stopped them.”

“I knew it was risky coming here to find you,” Ferdinand replied. “But it has been so long since I have seen you. It is worth the risk.”

_ I thought you were dead _ , he wanted to say.  _ Why didn’t you take a risk sooner and at least send a message letting me know you were alive? _

“My handsome face is really worth risking everything to see, huh?” he joked. “I’m flattered.”

When they were younger, silly quips like that used to fluster and frustrate Ferdinand. He would have said something ridiculously earnest like  _ ‘You know I value you for more than your looks, Sylvain! You are my dear friend. I will not stand for you reducing my regard to shallow attraction.’ _

But this Ferdinand just looked at him with serious eyes until the forced smile faded from Sylvain’s face.

“I…” Ferdinand hesitated. It was unlike him to hesitate, or at least it used to be. The past four years had changed Sylvain in many ways, though. Of course they changed Ferdinand.

He wondered how much of the boy he once knew was a part of the man he now walked beside.

“Back then, I should have come with you,” Ferdinand said quietly as they trudged through the snow in the courtyard.

“And I should have gone after you,” Sylvain replied. 

But here they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short start to the story but next chapter features steamy baths, pining, politics, and catching up!  
> After that the smut!  
> Then the angst!
> 
> (If you are one of the like 3 other people who love Ferdivain, come yell about them on Twitter with me at @lalexanderwrite)


	2. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt: 
> 
> _A numbness had settled over him during his exile and he had not realized the true extent of it until he saw Sylvain again, saw that numbness in his manner as well, saw it fracture when their eyes met.  
>  Ferdinand knew better than anyone that remembering the good things from the past could often be more painful than remembering the bad._

Ferdinand lowered his aching body into the hot bath and breathed a sigh of relief. After so many long nights on the road, he had all but forgotten what it was like to feel warm, or even to feel much at all.

For several minutes, he closed his eyes and basked in the warmth as the tumult in his mind settled a little. Then he sat up and picked up the bar of soap on the rim of the large marble tub. It smelled of lavender and as he lathered it in his hands and rubbed it across his body, he marveled at how silky and luxurious it felt. Years of exile had forced practicality to replace his love of fine things and he had grown used to living out of only the things he could fit in his saddlebags and staying in shabby hostels or sleeping under the stars.

For someone whose upbringing had centered around ingraining into him every definition and expectation of the word  _ nobility _ , he had still managed to take so many aspects of it for granted. Like good soap.

After he was done scrubbing his body clean, he leaned back and closed his eyes. His body begged for sleep but there was such a clamor of racing thoughts and insuppressible feelings in his head that he knew rest would be out of the question. Seeing Sylvain brought too much to life in his heart; he could hardly bear it. A numbness had settled over him during his exile and he had not realized the true extent of it until he saw Sylvain again, saw that numbness in his manner as well, saw it fracture when their eyes met.

Ferdinand knew better than anyone that remembering the good things from the past could often be more painful than remembering the bad.

Was it ridiculous that he had hoped Sylvain would be happy to see him? It had been, hadn’t it? Naive and-

“Ferdie?” Sylvain knocked tentatively on the door. “I brought you some warmer clothes. You really weren’t dressed for Faerghus cold.”

“You can come set them in here,” he replied and as Sylvain opened the door, he smiled at him and said, “Thank you. Your hospitality is a welcome relief after such a harrowing journey.”

Sylvain stepped in then paused, his eyes widening a bit as he realized Ferdinand was still in the bath. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he began.

“Please, do not trouble yourself with apologies. You have seen me naked more than anyone else. Why would it bother me?” Ferdinand replied.

Sylvain smiled as he set down the clothes on the counter. “Well it’s good to see you again,” he said, walking over to sit down on the edge of the bathtub. “And not just because you’re naked.” His smile took on a little of its old teasing glint and the familiarity of it reassured Ferdinand.

“It is good to see you again too," Ferdinand replied, feeling bold. “Even though you are not naked.”

Sylvain laughed. “I was a bad influence on you, wasn’t I?”

“Absolutely terrible,” he agreed with a smile.

“So have you been using my lines on people all over Fódlan during your travels? Have they served you well?”

“I do not have your skill for using them, nor should I ever attempt to. I have not your charm nor your willingness to risk getting drinks thrown in your face.”

“Hm. Pity. I hoped-” Sylvain paused for a second. His eyes flicked away from Ferdinand’s face to focus on the glimmer of candlelight on the bathwater. A hint of sorrow shadowed his expression as he said, “I hoped wherever you were, you were well. Alive. Finding some joy amidst all this madness, even if it was just fucking a pretty stranger or eating a good meal. I figured the chances of that were slim – of you even being alive, that is – but I still hoped, for a while at least. Then the evidence to the contrary seemed to be pretty irrefutable.”

“You really believed me to be dead?” Ferdinand asked, his brow furrowing in distress at the thought of Sylvain grieving the loss of yet another friend when he had all already lost so many. “Did you not receive my letters?”

“Letters?”

“I wrote you to tell you I was alive as soon as I escaped Adrestria.”

“I guess the trustworthiness of the Pegasus Post has been another casualty of the war then,” Sylvain said with a bitter half-smile. He lifted his eyes to meet Ferdinand’s gaze and there was an intensity in them that mesmerized him. “To hell with the past,” Sylvain murmured, voice low and intoxicating. “You’re here now. We get so few victories these days. I’m not going to let the past dim this one for me.”

Ferdinand held his breath, staring up at Sylvain with wide eyes as he leaned in and traced the line of Ferdinand’s jaw with his fingertips.

_ Good goddess, I have missed you.  _ Ferdinand did not have time to say the words because his impulsiveness got the better of him and before he could think of whether it was the wisest course of action or not, he found himself rising up to meet Sylvain’s lips with his own. Water splashed over the side of the bathtub and Sylvain let out a small, startled noise followed by a quiet hum of happiness as he kissed Ferdinand back deeply.

In a clumsy rush, Ferdinand somehow ended up out of the bathtub, bundled halfway in a towel and standing pinned against the marble tiled wall, Sylvain pressed up against him despite his wet skin and dripping tangled hair. Then his arms were around Sylvain’s neck, Sylvain’s hand was under his thigh to support his leg as it wrapped around his waist, and Ferdinand’s mind was going hazy with the long-missed thrill of Sylvain’s eager mouth, skilled tongue and strong hands.

Sylvain had been his first kiss, and even though it felt like those days were a lifetime ago and Ferdinand had kissed quite a few people since – more than would be proper to ever admit – Sylvain yet remained the most captivating and unforgettable person with whom he had shared such intimacy.

Breaths turned to gasps, thought to only instinct and emotion, and before Ferdinand knew it, he was down on his knees, unbuckling Sylvain’s belt, tugging at the waistline of his pants, desperate to have him in his mouth. Ferdinand fancied that he was good at expressing himself with words, but he still knew he was far better with actions and whatever this heart-pounding, soul-deep feeling that was overwhelming him was, he wanted Sylvain to understand its sincerity.

“Ferdie.” Sylvain picked up his hands as they fumbled with his belt buckle and held them to stop him. 

Ferdinand looked up at him questioningly.

“Why are you here?” Sylvain asked.

“As I said: to bring you news. But also to see you. My news, important as it is, can wait an hour. I would rather-”

Tugging Ferdinand back up to his feet, Sylvain said, “Tell me now.”

For a moment, Ferdinand faltered, thrown off balance by Sylvain’s sudden shift from seductive to serious. As he studied Sylvain’s expression, he wondered if there was a hint of suspicion he saw in it. No, perhaps  _ suspicion _ was too strong a word.  _ Guardedness _ would be a better one.

There had always been armor that Sylvain wore, even when stripped of his chain mail and metal plate. But one of the things Ferdinand had taken great pride in when they were younger was the way he was able to loosen that armor when the two of them were alone. He never saw Sylvain entirely free of it, but he saw pieces removed, glimpses of the raw and genuine person hidden beneath it, someone sad and kind and full of yearning to love and be loved.

Ferdinand saw no gaps in the armor now. For a brief moment as they had kissed, he thought he felt it slipping, but Sylvain’s defenses were back up now.

Years apart might not have dimmed emotion, but he realized now that they had damaged trust.

“If we are to talk, I would prefer to do so with clothes,” he said, taking the warm woolen pants and thick knitted sweater with a fur-lined hood that Sylvain had brought him. Once he was dressed, he followed Sylvain to a large chamber with a hearth in it within which a fire was blazing and filling the room with blessed warmth and the smell of smoked pine.

Ferdinand remembered this room, remembered it from the week he had spent here during their schooldays when Sylvain had invited him to visit and see the famed Gautier stables. It was one of his happier memories from that period of his life, for although the manor itself was presided over by the stern shadow of the margrave whose perpetual displeasure reminded Ferdinand a little too keenly of his own father, the outlying grounds of the estate were full of beautiful riding trails that he and Sylvain had explored every inch of together.

Back then Sylvain’s room had been a vibrant space, its walls covered in paintings ranging from expensive masterpieces bought from the finest galleries in Enbarr to charming sketches from Mercedes and a few portraits of his friends painted by Ignatz. It was a happy little sanctuary where they could hide away from the margrave and the staff of the manor and spend hours reading in companionable silence together or talking late into the night or stealing kisses and exploring each other’s bodies with more privacy than they normally were afforded in Garreg Mach.

That room existed now only in Ferdinand’s memory. Now many of the paintings were gone from the walls, leaving patches of the dark wood panels bare. In the center of the largest wall where once hung a stunning landscape of the hills and forests outside of Garreg Mach there was now only a weapon rack upon which hung the Lance of Ruin, its umbral steel head glimmering in the flickers of firelight.

Sylvain poured two glasses of hot spiced wine and handed one to Ferdinand. “It’s hard to get fine Adrestrian reds these days. We’ll have to make do with good old Faerghus white wine, good for cooking, warming the body, and polishing shoes,” he said with a wry smile.

Ferdinand took a sip and did not grimace in the slightest at its unrefined flavor. “It is superior to the watered down tavern ale I have become accustomed to. This at least tastes like something other than a stale loaf of bread.”

“I take it your wanderings have been in less than savory places then,” Sylvain commented.

“Indeed. But as of late I managed to wander into one fortunate place.”

“You’ve been staying with Claude,” Sylvain guessed. “Our ‘mutual friend.’ What does he want from me? Because I might have officially assumed the mantle of being my father’s heir but that doesn’t mean I have authority to make political deals or command our troops. As long as my father is still alive, my power is of a more symbolic than effective kind.”

“He does not want the aid of your armies or the resources of your territory,” Ferdinand assured him.

“Then what does he want?”

“You.”

“Me?” Sylvain laughed. “Funny. Claude never gave me the impression he was into me. Or anyone for that matter.”

“He wants your help, not the help of your battalions or your father’s gold. Just you, not Sylvain the heir of Gautier, just Sylvain the brave lion of the Golden Deer.”

For an instant, a pained and wistful look passed across Sylvain’s expression. Then he hid it with a vague smile that did not reach his eyes. 

“A little late to call upon my house loyalties,” he said, sipping his wine and gazing idly into the fireplace. “I was a Golden Deer for eight months. I’ve been heir of Gautier for four years now. I’m so deep in this rut it’s become a war trench and I might as well die in it along with the rest of Faerghus.”

“He is gathering everyone back at Garreg Mach for the Millennium Festival, just like we promised. You must come.”

“Because it’s not a party without me?” Sylvain asked.

“Because you are a catalyst. If you come so will the others in Faerghus. Petra is coming from Brigid. Dorothea is smuggling us information from Enbarr. Hilda, Lorenz, Lysithea and Marianne have backed Claude, uniting the most powerful houses in the Alliance. Yuri Leclerc has agreed to return. With you and Felix and Ingrid and Mercedes, we will have half of the noble houses of Fodlan united under one banner. It is a chance to put up a united front against the Empire.”

“Smart of him to gather everyone at Garreg Mach: neutral territory with deep amounts of nostalgia to inspire and bond people. Very like Claude to wait all these years then pull a farfetched scheme out of-”

“He thinks the professor is alive.”

Sylvain glanced up from the fireplace at last to meet Ferdinand’s eyes. Ferdinand stared back resolutely.

“Come with me,” Ferdinand said, setting down his glass and stepping closer to Sylvain. “Let us see for ourselves. If there is truth to Claude’s information and she returns, you know we have a real, undeniable hope of fighting back against Edelgard.”

“And if she doesn’t show? If she’s really gone for good?”

“Then we will at least be together again. Even if it is not the spark of a rebellion. Even if all it is is a chance to see our friends again, is that not worth the risk?” he asked.

Sylvain did not reply and Ferdinand closed the rest of the distance between them and took his hand, holding it in both of his own. “I am tired of feeling isolated. If there is any path to victory to be found or forged, it is by fighting alongside one another again. And if there is not and all we strive for comes to nothing in the end, then I want us to fall together. I do not want either of us to die alone.” He raised Sylvain’s hand and pressed his lips against it. “So no, I have not come here simply because Claude asked me to. I have become because whether you choose to have hope and come to Garreg Mach with the others or whether you choose to stay here in Faerghus to die, I intend to fight with you.”

It was not often that Sylvain was at a loss for words. Ferdinand watched the hints of thought and feeling struggling to stay contained behind Sylvain’s careful expression, wondering which choice he would make.

He saw the moment the decision was made, saw the certainty return to Sylvain’s eyes. But before he could ask what he had chosen, Sylvain kissed him. Cradling the back of Ferdinand’s neck with his free hand, he leaned closer and kissed him deeply, longingly, like he was starved for affection and desperate to make up for years of loneliness in a single minute.

Hope flared to life in Ferdinand’s mind and he kissed him back with abandon.


	3. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes right then everything goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have now made it to the chapter with a little bit of smut. Will there be more later on? Who knows

Fuck. He was the most beautiful thing Sylvain had ever seen, his hair spread out across the pillows, his face flushed and mouth open, lips swollen from their feverish kisses. Even in the winter, his skin was warm and freckled, as if sunlight found its way to him no matter what season. 

“Look at you…” Sylvain murmured, eyes wandering in awe across Ferdinand’s body as he lay naked beneath him. He ran his fingers over the curves of muscle, the smooth skin traced here and there with battle scars and now reddened in several places with the small marks left behind from Sylvain’s mouth. His eyes traveled down across his strong chest and smooth stomach to the lines of his hips and the intoxicating sight of his cock, hard, tempting, its head dripping with arousal.

He was so different from the skinny young man Sylvain had known at Garreg Mach, the one whose arms and legs looked a little bit gangly no matter how gracefully he tried to act, the one whose hair was perfectly styled yet whose skin was always riddled with bruises from tumbling off horseback during lance training. He had liked that Ferdinand, with his brilliant smile and heedless sincerity.

Unlike any of Sylvain’s other romantic partners during those days, they had been friends first and lovers second. In fact, Sylvain had no intention of sleeping with him even though he gave him the same flirtatious looks and careless pickup lines he did everyone else. Despite being friendly with everybody, Sylvain had very few people he actually considered  _ friends _ . In those days it was really just him and Felix and his friendship with Felix had been strained back then, to say the least. 

Then one day Ferdinand had blustered into the stables with all the manic energy of a whirlwind, talking earnestly and laughing readily like he had no idea Sylvain was not a respectable friend to make for an upstanding young noble. They had talked of horses, operas, books, battles, politics, art and everything else under the sun until what had started as a lonely day turned into one of the most cheerful and carefree afternoons he’d had at Garreg Mach.

When he listened to the gossip later, he realized with surprise that they had something else in common. Like Sylvain, Ferdinand was known by everyone and liked by no one.  _ “He tries too hard” _ mocked the same people who said  _ “he should try harder” _ about Sylvain. 

They both needed a friend, someone to trust in a place where every interaction seemed laced with suspicion and each relationship determined by the power struggles they were born to inherit from their parents. Struggles that in the end had separated them anyways.

“Sylvain,” Ferdinand said. “Come here.”

He leaned down and Ferdinand kissed him passionately, running his hands across Sylvain’s body so intently it seemed like he was trying to map out every inch of him. Reaching down to stroke his fingers along the length of Ferdinand’s cock, Sylvain smiled in delight as Ferdinand gasped and shivered in anticipation.

For a second, Sylvain was paralyzed with indecision. With all this lost time to make up for, he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do more. He just wanted to please him and to get carried away on the current of Ferdinand’s enthusiasm and feel alive in a way he hadn’t in so long.

“Do you-” Ferdinand began but was interrupted with a moan as Sylvain kissed his neck, biting and sucking at his skin in a well-practiced way to balance the pain with pleasure. “Do you want to-  _ ah! _ ” Ferdinand gasped and bucked his hips as Sylvain clasped his fingers tighter around his dick. “Sylvain, I am trying to ask if you-”

“Yes,” Sylvain whispered in his ear, flicking his earlobe with the tip of his tongue. “Anything you want. I am all yours.”

Ferdinand’s hand strayed to Sylvain’s ass and in reply Sylvain reached over to his nightstand and grabbed a bottle of oil, handing it to Ferdinand.

Eyes wide and excited, Ferdinand took it from him, slicked his fingers then slipped one into Sylvain, watching with a pleased smile as Sylvain gasped and swore softly.

Ferdinand had been a quick study back then, when he was still inexperienced and curious, eager to please, eager to learn, delighting in each new thing Sylvain taught him. He was always passionate, but now he was confident. Sylvain just about saw stars as Ferdinand slipped in a second finger, stroking expertly at the spot that made him groan and gasp out a desperate, “Fuck!”

Soon fingers were not enough and Sylvain’s whole body was on fire with the need for more. As Ferdinand sat up against the headboard, Sylvain straddled him and kissed him frantically.  _ Slow down _ , he told himself, but immediately ignored his better judgment.

It hurt in an overwhelming but euphoric way as he eased himself down onto Ferdinand’s cock. For a moment he worried he wouldn’t be able to take it all, but as he carefully relaxed his body, the pain gave way to the incredible feeling of being filled and satisfied. 

With one strong hand securely placed under his thigh to hold him up, Ferdinand reached the other up to cradle Sylvain’s face in his hand and brush his thumb across his cheek. He smiled – not the dazzling  _ I am Ferdinand von Aegir! _ smile he gave the world, but rather the soft, intimate one Sylvain remembered from those rare moments when they both set aside their brilliant personas to simply rest in the comfort of each other’s presence. 

“Are you alright?” Ferdinand asked.

“Yes,” Sylvain answered breathlessly. He proved it by rising up then bucking his hips downward, earning a gasp and a groan from Ferdinand. Grabbing hold of the headboard to steady himself, Sylvain began to move more intently until Ferdinand’s care had been replaced with raw desire and he was thrusting back up into him with everything he had.

As he rode him, Sylvain watched the look of torment and pleasure on Ferdinand’s face, arousal coursing through him at the sound of the wonderful reckless cries and moans that left his lips. Leaning down, Sylvain captured his mouth and kissed him hungrily. As Ferdinand moaned around his tongue and saliva slicked his lips, Sylvain stopped kissing him and looked at the overwhelmed expression on his face.

He had forgotten how unraveled Ferdinand became during sex, how unabashed his desire was to the point where Sylvain would have called it  _ lust _ if there wasn’t something still pure and passionate about it. He had never seen anyone who just gave in to the euphoria so much without thought or artifice or hesitation. He had forgotten how alive he felt and how much it made his heart ache and his body burn to draw those noises from Ferdinand’s lips, how freeing it was to feel that no shadow of the past of future could touch a present moment so focused and consuming.

Closing his eyes, Sylvain reveled in the perfect feeling of Ferdinand’s body. But his eyes snapped open as he felt a tongue flick across one of his nipples and fingers tweak the other.

He swore and his face flushed when he realized how loud he had been without meaning to.

Ferdinand leaned up and caught his nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. The burst of new sensation made Sylvain see stars and he fucked himself down onto Ferdinand’s cock with every shred of energy his tired body had, relishing the slap of skin and the slick thrusting noise and the way Ferdinand’s cries and groans nearly drowned it out. Heat and pressure built up in his body until it was torturous to hold back. Then he was coming, a shuddering, gasping orgasm that made his body clench and relief flood him in a transcendent rush of pleasure that made him whimper out half-coherent curses.

Ferdinand’s control broke soon after as Sylvain tightened around his cock and with a gasp he came as well, continuing to fuck him until the orgasm had run its course and Sylvain was nearing the point of  _ too much _ . Then he stopped and released a long sigh of utter satisfaction. Tangling his fingers in Sylvain’s hair, he tugged his head down to kiss him again.

“Shall I take this as a ‘yes’ then?” he whispered against Sylvain’s lips. “You will come with me?”

Sylvain did not answer. Instead he eased himself off of Ferdinand’s cock and walked to the washroom to clean off, a stagger in his step as one of his legs cramped. Good goddess, he had come hard. It had been a while since he had made love to someone like that. A long while. Even though he didn’t lack for prospects, he had found that his desire for sex had lowered significantly. No matter who he fucked or how it hadn’t offered him either escape or relief lately. 

He remembered now what it was like to enjoy it.

As he returned to the bed and walked past the weapon rack on his wall, the Lance of Ruin glimmered and caught his eye. He looked at it for a second, a chill pricking at his skin, then he swallowed back the anxiety that rose up in his throat and turned his attention to Ferdinand who was sprawled across the sheets, hugging a pillow and looking beautifully disheveled and happy.

“Scoot over,” Sylvain said, lying down next to him. Ferdinand made room for him on the bed and as Sylvain settled down on his side, Ferdinand curled around him, one arm tucked around his waist. He nuzzled Sylvain’s neck and pressed soft kisses here and there with a tenderness that made Sylvain uncomfortable. It felt like years since he had been touched like this. And it had been, hadn’t it? Years.

“Ferdie,” he said quietly, his voice husky with the emotion he was trying to keep tightly locked behind a calm manner.

“Yes?”

Again the gentle press of lips on the back of his neck, the trace of fingertips along the line of his hips. A faint shiver ran down Sylvain’s spine. 

_ A lot changes in a few years _ was what Sylvain wanted to say.  _ I never understood why you cared for me, but I know for certain whatever it was you loved is no longer there inside me _ was what he actually would have meant.

“Just as good as you remember it?” was what he ended up with.

“Better,” Ferdinand replied and Sylvain could hear the smile in his voice. “I hope I was able to satisfy you. I fancy I have a bit more experience these days than I used to and am perhaps a better lover.” He laughed. “I do not know why you ever made love to me back then. I was woefully ignorant.”

“I did it because you asked.”

“I did not!”

“Yes you did. I remember it clearly. You marched over to my room, knocked on my door and said, ‘Sylvain, I have a delicate question for you and I know not who else to ask,’” Sylvain said, imitating his tone with such accuracy that it made Ferdinand laugh again.

“I asked you for advice!”

“You wanted a practical demonstration,” Sylvain argued. “You were just too shy to ask.”

“I asked you because I trusted you!”

“Seiros knows why.”

“Because you were my friend. My first friend at Garreg Mach, and the only one I knew would accept me the way I was, foolish and ridiculous as I was back then,” Ferdinand answered.

Sylvain rolled over to face Ferdinand, cupping his cheek in his hand and kissing him slowly.

“Let us be friends once more,” Ferdinand said as he pulled away. “I will be anything and everything you wish. Just fight by my side as you used to, be my friend. Give me your strength and I will give you my hope. If that is no longer you desire, I understand. But when we return to Garreg Mach, I-”

Ferdinand paused as the sound of running footsteps came from the hall. A knock on the door made Sylvain swear and leap out of bed, tugging on pants and a sweater.

“Just a minute!” he called. As soon as he was presentable, he cracked the door open and asked the servant outside, “What’s the matter?”

“Your father is here,” the girl said in a tone of dread. “He’s returned early from Fraldarius. He’s approaching the gates as we speak.”

Sylvain froze, mind reeling with panic. He shut the door without replying to the girl and turned to face Ferdinand.

“Get dressed,” he said urgently.

“What’s wrong?” Ferdinand asked, hastily putting on the clothes Sylvain lent him. 

“You need to leave. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because my father is here,” he answered.

Ferdinand gave him a look of both question and entreaty. “You will come with me, won’t you?”

That part of Sylvain that Ferdinand loved – the good part, the brave and loyal and loving part – he harbored a piece of it still beneath layers of cold armor, unwilling to let the last fragment of it go. And it ached; it ached so hard it strangled the words from Sylvain’s throat. 

So he clamped down on his emotions. He stood up straight, ignoring the cramp in his leg. He set his jaw and took a deep breath.

“I can’t.”

“Sylvain-”

“Ferdie, you need to go. If he finds you here, he will think you’re a spy. Nothing I say will be able to persuade him otherwise. He doesn’t give a damn what I say about anything,” he insisted.

Ferdinand’s eyes were wide with confusion and hurt and goddamnit! The heart left in Sylvain ached even more painfully at the sight.

“Please, Ferdie…” he said hoarsely. 

“I am not leaving without you,” Ferdinand said, standing his ground.

“There’s no time to argue! Go! Return to Derdriu! Send me word when you make it back safely and I will take a wyvern and fly and visit you,” Sylvain promised.

“But Garreg Mach. Will you return with me? With the others? With Claude?”

Sylvain should have lied, if Ferdinand would have accepted a lie. His hesitation cost him too much time and before he could force Ferdinand out the door heavy armored footfalls in the hallways made his blood run cold.

“Sylvain?” the margrave’s voice bellowed. “Sylvain!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sylvain hissed. “Hide!”

“I am not going to hide,” Ferdinand said indignantly. “I will speak with him. I will prove my innocence.”

“He won’t-” Sylvain stopped abruptly as a hand grabbed the doorknob and wrenched his door open.

“Margrave Gautier,” Ferdinand said, tucking his arm behind his back in a respectful bow.

The margrave stared at him for a long moment, face set in a grim frown. Then he turned his gaze on Sylvain and Sylvain momentarily forgot how to breathe. He felt turned to stone under the pressure of that gaze paralyzing him.

Then the margrave turned to the two soldiers standing behind him and nodded at them. They stepped forward, weapons drawn.

“Come with us,” they said to Ferdinand, approaching with a pair of metal bonds.

“Father, wait!” Sylvain said, forcing the words to come from his throat even though his voice sounded shaky. “He is an old friend of mine from the Golden Deer. He has only come to bring me news from the other Golden Deer. He’s not-”

“Quiet,” the margrave ordered. 

Sylvain obeyed.


	4. Four O'Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margrave Gautier attempts to negotiate with Ferdinand. But he meets his match of stubbornness.
> 
> Meanwhile, Sylvain has an existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaa I'm sorry for temporarily abandoning this fic. There is so little Ferdivain content! I will not leave this unfinished. There is only one chapter after this one. :) As usual, thank you for reading fellow Ferdivain enthusiasts. I hope you enjoy some angst!

It was very strange, Ferdinand thought as he hugged his knees to his chest and shivered in the damp cell, that he and Sylvain’s lives could be the same book but read from different directions.

They had met in the middle during their last days at Garreg Mach and he had felt such kinship with him at that time. Foolish of him to expect that it would still be that way, for of course Sylvain’s story had kept going long past the point in which Ferdinand left it.

Ferdinand had abandoned family, title and lands, spurning every expectation he had been raised with, just as Sylvain had wanted to so much as a young man. And Sylvain had gone home and become his father’s son, just as Ferdinand had always assumed  _ he _ would someday.

They were now on opposite sides of the book, were they not? They no longer lived in the middle of it where their stories could exist on the same pages.

Ferdinand scoffed at himself and shivered, clutching his knees tighter to try to keep his core warm lest he freeze to death. This was no time for philosophizing. He needed to get out of here. But he would have to overcome the significant impediment of his ankles being shackled to a bolt in the floor first and that was an endeavor that was, as of yet, hopelessly futile.

  
  


Sylvain paced the length of his room and glanced up from the floor to the Lance of Ruin, crazy thoughts spinning through his mind. His pulse pounded in his ears and he clenched and unclenched his fists, looking determinedly away from the weapon.

He looked back at it. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck!”

Sylvain ran to the door and yanked it open, noting the two guards standing in the hallway looking distinctly unsettled.

“Captain Gautier,” one of them said nervously as he stepped out of his room. “Your father-”

“I need to speak with him. Where is he?” Sylvain demanded.

“In his study. He said he was not to be disturbed. And he said that you-” The man swallowed anxiously. “He said that you were not to leave your chambers, sir.”

Stunned, Sylvain retreated back to his room and closed the door. So he was on house arrest now? It wouldn’t be the first time of course. It was just that… well, it had been a while since he had done anything upsetting enough to the old man to warrant being locked up to contemplate his failings.

His gaze strayed to the lance again. It seemed drawn to it. Sylvain tried not to think about the fucking symbolism of it. 

He summoned his resolve again and opened the door. 

“Master Sylvain, you can’t-”

“Like hell I can’t,” he said and walked out. He made it about halfway down the hall before the guards got the nerve to attempt to physically restrain him. He struggled against them for a moment but right as he raised his fist to fight back, he froze at the look of fear in the man’s eyes.

These were his comrades. He had fought beside these men, froze beside them in the snow, stitched up each other’s wounds and drank shitty liquor and made stupid jokes about women.

He stopped and staggered back to his room, closing the door behind him.

He glanced at the bed, its sheets a mess. He glanced at the closet where a stack of old paintings were tucked away gathering dust. He glanced at the window and the icicles hanging from the eaves.

He glanced at the Lance of Ruin.

  
  


“I would like to at least speak with Margrave Gautier before I freeze to death,” Ferdinand said to the soldier standing outside his cell.

The woman did not reply.

He lost his temper a bit and said thoughtlessly, “Is not the point of capturing a spy to question him?”

“You are not a spy,” the margrave said, stepping into the lantern light and walking over to stand before Ferdinand’s cell. “I know who you are. You have nothing to offer me. If you knew anything of value, that mad dog Vestra would have hunted you down and slit your throat already.”

Ferdinand bristled at Hubert being referred to thusly, even though he was far past the point where he should care about such things. 

“If you mean neither to kill or interrogate me, why imprison me?” Ferdinand asked.

“This is not about you, Aegir,” Margrave Gautier said. “And if you give me your word, I will even let you crawl back to the Alliance.”

“Give you my word for what?”

Margrave Gautier stared down at him and Ferdinand restrained the urge to shiver.

“Never contact my son again. Do not attempt to send more foolish letters, do not return here. Do you understand, boy?”

The words  _ more letters _ did not escape Ferdinand and he suddenly understood the astonishing unreliability of the Pegasus Post in Gautier territory.

“You ask me to disappear of my own volition because you cannot allow me to stay and killing me will alienate Sylvain to you,” Ferdinand risked.

If it was possible for Margrave Gautier to look even colder, he now did so.

“I ask you to disappear of your own volition because, despite what villain my foolish son has no doubt made me out to be, I am not in fact a merciless man. I see no reason to kill an innocent boy. So leave. But I advise you not to cross me again. I will not offer leniency another time.”

“And if I refuse your terms?” Ferdinand asked.

“Then I will not kill you,” Margrave Gautier said. “But I cannot make promises for the winter. So what will it be?”

  
  


Sylvain ripped the Lance of Ruin from its mount and clutched it tightly, wincing at the fire-hot current of magic that always raced up his arm when he touched it, flowing like molten steel through his veins and making them course with pain as it connected with his crest. He gritted his teeth until it passed and took a deep breath.

This time when he stepped out of his room, the guards fell back, eyeing the weapon in dread. 

He strode past them stiffly, avoiding their gaze because he could not bear to see the fear in their eyes. He passed servants and guards on his way to his father’s study but none of them dared to speak to him, let alone try to stop him.

Heart pounding with terror of his own, Sylvain paused before his father’s door and clutched the lance so tightly his fingers ached.

A voice in his mind whispered  _ think about what you’re doing! _

He put a shaking hand on the doorknob and swallowed anxiously. A moment more he hesitated then he shoved it open and burst into the room. 

“Father!” he said. “I must-” 

The study was empty.

  
  


“Your word, boy,” Margrave Gautier demanded. “Do not make this a chore. The hour is late and I returned home today for the express purpose of spending the solstice in peace and quiet. Surely this is not how you prefer to spend the holiday either.”

Ferdinand determinedly kept his mouth shut, suppressing even a grunt of pain as a soldier kicked him viciously in the ribs, fracturing one. Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, he endured the beating and held onto his silence.

“Again,” the margrave commanded and this time it was a backhand across the face with an armored glove.

Ferdinand laughed hoarsely. He had heard of Margrave Gautier’s unyielding nature but if the margrave thought he was the most stubborn man in Fódlan he was about to learn otherwise.

As this began to become apparent, the margrave walked into the cell and kneeled down in front of Ferdinand. “You cannot be threatened or broken quick enough to get this over with in a timely fashion, so I will try to reason with you one last time before leaving you here to freeze to death.”

“If you think I am easily reasoned with you must not know much about von Aegirs,” Ferdinand said, choking on a laugh and spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“What do you wish to accomplish? Do you want to convince Sylvain to abandon his home, family and title like you did to go fight in the Alliance?”

“I intend to stay by his side and fight with him whether he stays in Faerghus or not,” Ferdinand answered.

Margrave Gautier nodded, then after a pause said, “Sylvain is not an incompetent fighter but his usefulness comes in what he stands for. Our men feel brave when he rides into battle with them. They are reassured by his crest and his relic. He is a figurehead and that is his only value. A traitorous Adrestrian at his side will ruin that image, and the suspicion and disgrace you will bring to him will render him useless. Is that what you wish upon him? This is the role he was born to fulfill and no matter what he might have said during his ridiculous school days, he has chosen this role willingly and fulfilled it well these past few years. But I suppose you would know nothing of the responsibility of a noble, would you, Aegir?”

“You seem to have quite a lot of respect for the responsibilities of a crested noble,” Ferdinand answered. “It is a pity that you have not applied such attention to the responsibilities of a father.”

Margrave Gautier stared at him thunderously for a second then grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head down against the frozen ground. “Enjoy the longest night of the year,” he growled, getting to his feet and turning away.

Head spinning and throbbing with pain, Ferdinand opened his mouth to reply but could not think coherently enough to speak despite his desperation to have the last word. He could feel heat staining the back of his neck and knew vaguely that it was blood. And, as if from a great distance, he heard the clank of the cell door clicking shut and the key being turned in the lock.


	5. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain has spent four years earning his father's respect but he loses it in a matter of minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say 5 chapters? I'm pretty sure it was six lol  
> Morning on the day of a solstice does not mean dawn anyways since that is a long time coming on the longest night of the year. One more chapter!  
> Also what are your headcanons on Sylvain's mom? I'm curious to hear them!

_Ethereal Solstice 1180:_

“I received a letter from Sir Gwendal,” the margrave commented.

Lady Gautier set down her fork and looked nervously between her husband and her son. “My dear…”

“Look at this great spread mum made for us,” Sylvain said, gesturing at the table full of holiday dishes. “Can this at least wait until dessert, for the sake of the holiday?”

The margrave took a long sip of his wine and did not reply.

Sylvain smiled at his mother. “The potatoes are incredible.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Sylvain. I know you are probably used to eating such fine food down south at Garreg Mach,” she said, nervously deflecting the praise.

He smiled at her until her eyes met his and she could see the sincerity in his expression. “Are you kidding? You could vanquish the cooks at the monastery singlehandedly with just these potatoes, mum.”

His father gave a quiet _hmph_. He had been to Garreg Mach. He knew Sylvain was lying. But Lady Gautier had never left Faerghus and she gave a small, pleased smile at the compliment.

The margrave ate in silence, saving his tirade about Sir Gwendal’s daughter for after the meal, much to Sylvain’s relief. Conflict was distressing to his mother. He preferred to get his tongue lashings in his father’s study where she would not be saddened by overhearing.

_Ethereal Solstice 1181:_

Sylvain almost missed the awkward family dinners of his past. He would have preferred them to the stern war council that was going on around the dining table.

His mother sat in silence, blankly picking at her food, hardly eating, listening with a sad and weary expression as Margrave Gautier argued strategy with Rodrigue. 

Sylvain glanced over at Felix, trying to catch his eye, but Felix was too busy staring down into his goblet of ale, cold and withdrawn. The only time he exhibited an emotion was when Rodrigue mentioned the name _Dimitri_ and he stiffened noticeably, his hand clenching around the handle of the goblet so tightly his knuckles went white.

Although his stomach felt twisted and nauseous from stress, Sylvain forced himself to take a slice of the lamb roast and eat it. He shot his mother a grateful smile. “Food’s great, mum.”

_Ethereal Solstice 1182:_

The Resistance troops were trapped in a town in southern Faerghus, hedged in by a blockade of Imperial forces cutting them off from their allies.

Sylvain’s body ached from the cold and his stomach rumbled with hunger, but he strapped on his armor and picked up the Lance of Ruin. His soldiers looked up at him with expressions of despair and hope. 

“This will be quite the story to brag about to the ladies,” he said with a grin. “Let’s cut our path home and return heroes!”

“Captain, we-” 

“Follow my lead,” he interrupted with a reassuring nod before the soldier could give voice to everyone’s fear. “We’ll be fine. We have the goddess on our side. And we have me.”

Sylvain brought nearly all of them home and when he limped up to the door of Gautier Manor a few days later, his father smiled. 

“Well done, boy. Well done.”

Sylvain grinned. “Did mum save me any food?”

_Ethereal Solstice 1183:_

Lady Gautier’s chair was left empty even though there were enough soldiers crowded around the table to eat the meager feast that it could have been of use.

Sylvain glanced at it and felt a dull ache in his chest. It was the first holiday without her and he would have eaten in his room if he could have just so he did not have to sit here at this table without her. But it was his duty to be present and he did not protest it.

_Ethereal Solstice 1184:_

Margrave Galatea laughed and clapped Sylvain on the back. “Those Imperial bastards will think twice before pushing this far north anytime soon!”

Ingrid and her father raised their mugs of ale in salute to the victory of the Gautier and Galatea troops today. Sylvain clinked his glass of wine with her mug and smiled with a wink that made Ingrid huff and roll her eyes.

“To sons and daughters!” Margrave Galatea said, more than a little drunk. “May they be bring even more glory to Faerghus than their fathers did!”

Margrave Gautier chuckled, a little coldly but not unkindly. “I will drink to that indeed.”

_Ethereal Solstice 1185:_

“Sylvain,” his father said, walking over to where he waited outside the doors of the manor, standing amidst the falling snow with the Lance of Ruin still clutched tight in his hands. The snow melted immediately on the glowing umbral steel and hissed quietly into steam.

“Father.”

The margrave stopped a few feet away and looked at the lance with a hint of amusement. “And why are you standing on ceremony outside your own home? There is no solstice parade this year, boy.”

Worse than chastisement was censure and the margrave’s tone withered Sylvain’s courage so sharply he felt his gut wrench. 

“Release him,” Sylvain said. His voice did not come out quite as commanding and strong as he intended it to. It was very quiet and in his ears, it still sounded so much like a boy’s.

“I intended to send him on his way peacefully but he refused to be released.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is under the impression that staying here with us is an option available to him. Explain to me how you allowed him to entertain such an idea.”

“He is my friend. Why should we not allow a strong warrior to join our cause, one whose loyalty to me I trust?” 

“I thought you had given up playing fool, Sylvain,” the margrave said, attempting to step past him.

Sylvain moved to block the door and swallowed back the nausea of his anxiety. “Answer me, father.”

The margrave stared at him expectantly. “Get out of the way.” A long moment passed and his father’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I will not ask again.”

“And I will not move until we have settled this.”

Margrave Gautier’s right hand clenched into a fist and flames licked at it. He took a step closer. Sylvain stood his ground but was unable to help the way his hands trembled.

“Either you let him free or I leave Faerghus,” Sylvain demanded. “Let’s see how long Gautier stands without me.”

“I am growing old. I feel the cold in my bones and the wounds of war heal slower than they used to,” his father said. “But if you think for one moment that I cannot pick up that lance and wield it myself as I used to before bequeathing it to you, you are dangerously mistaken.”

His father spoke quietly but his voice held the kind of power that each word was a battering ram. For second, Sylvain faltered under its barrage and his gaze dropped instinctively. His eyes drifted to his father’s fist and amid the flames flickering around his fingers threateningly he noticed something else: a smear of blood on his glove.

“Take it!” he snapped, casting the lance down to the ground. It hit the snow with a hiss of steam and lay glowing and smoldering in the space between them. “It’s yours. I’m nothing without it, I know. But whatever I am with it is not something I have any desire to be anymore. So take it. Let it be buried with you when your withered hands are too feeble to hold it any longer. Seiros knows you’ll never bear another heir who can pick it up and that I’ll be _damned_ before I do!”

Slowly, Margrave Gautier bent down and picked up the Lance of Ruin. He did not shudder or flinch as its magic seared through his arm. The reason magic burning in his grasp spread up the hilt of the lance to wreathe its head in flames.

Sylvain watched him in wide eyes. He had not seen his father hold the weapon since he was a child and it brought back the terror he had felt the first time he did. 

He had been eleven the day Margrave Gautier had given up all hope of Miklan’s crest manifesting. Sylvain had watched as Miklan tried to pick up the lance only to cry out at the pain its magic caused him and drop it, staggering back with a whimper. With a very similar expression to the one he now bore, Margrave Gautier had picked the lance up and struck Miklan with the flat of it, knocking him off his feet and down into the mud. _“You are no longer my son.”_

“You are my son, Sylvain. Even without the lance, you will be my son and you will never, no matter how far you run from it, be able to be anything else. You have been the pride of Gautier. Tell me, do you really wish to go back to being its disgrace?”

Sylvain did not realize he had taken a step back until his father stepped forward to close the distance and hold the Lance of Ruin dangerously close to his face, its serrated blade mere inches from his cheek.

“Fuck you,” he said through gritted teeth. “Get that thing out of my face and go fuck yourself.”

“Thank god your mother is not here to listen to your speak like this to your own-”

“Don’t you fucking dare bring mum into this!” he yelled.

Sylvain saw the attack before it even happened, his anxiety strained to the point of hypervigilance, and he ducked out of the way as his father sliced the lance at him. But with surprising swiftness, his father swung the lance around and slammed the butt of it into his stomach, knocking him back into the doorframe. 

Margrave Gautier lunged past him and into the house, kicking the door shut behind him. Before Sylvain could grab the door handle, he heard the deadbolts grind into place and the locks click. 

“Father!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. 

“Leave, Sylvain,” the margrave answered. “Ride as far as you can into the snow. You will return after the frostbite takes your Adrestrian friend. And maybe when you crawl back like the whining dog you are, you will have learnt something of value.”

For a moment Sylvain stood in front of the barred door in shock. 

He turned around slowly and in his mind’s eye he saw the ghost of Miklan staggering out of the courtyard. He heard his mother’s pained whimper, hardly louder than a breath. She knew she was not allowed to grieve for him.

His feet moved of their own accord, striding away from the house and through the courtyard. When his focus returned to reality, he broke into a run, heading towards the small building behind the barracks that served as a prison during the summer months. During the winter it was too cold to be humane.

He burst through the doors and within it he found two soldiers standing guard. They took one look at him and paled.

“Let me pass,” he demanded.

“Master Sylvain, we have strict orders from Margrave Gautier to-”

“Soldiers!” a voice said and he turned around to see Captain Hannalore walking in behind him. “This man is your commanding officer. Do what he says.”

“Captain…” one of them protested.

Hanna came to stand beside Sylvain, her expression stern and calm. “If Margrave Gautier takes issue with your conduct, I promise you that I alone will stand accountable for it,” she said. “Now let him pass and give me the key to the Adrestrian’s cell.”

Sylvain gave her a look of gratitude but she ignored him, staring at the two soldiers until they stepped aside and handed her the key ring. The Gautier troops might admire Sylvain but they trusted her. Like the best leaders Sylvain had known, she did not need a relic to hold their respect.

She descended the steps to the basement of the building with Sylvain and swore under her breath as they both caught sight of Ferdinand slumped on the ground of the corner cell, the ice around him stained with blood.

“I will have horses saddled and waiting for you outside,” Hanna said, handing Sylvain the key and turning away.

“Wait!” he said and she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“You shouldn’t have stuck your neck out for me,” Sylvain said.

“Don’t tell me what to do, kid,” she said. “You’re not technically _my_ superior officer.”

He smiled at her and she smiled back faintly. 

“Go heal up your friend as best you can and meet me outside. Hurry,” she barked then jogged away.


	6. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night ends at last.

Ferdinand woke to the sway of a horse’s tread and the warmth of someone’s arms around him. The sensations were swiftly followed by a fierce ache that seemed to resonate through every bone in his body, but he ignored it and blinked open his eyes.

He was on horseback, trudging down a long frozen road in a darkness broken only by the dim glow of starlight. Strong arms were wrapped around his waist holding him in the saddle and he was wearing a heavy fur coat and woolen scarf to ward away the chill of the wind.

“Sylvain?” he mumbled, looking over his shoulder.

A smile leapt to Sylvain’s lips and for once it was bright in his eyes as well. “Good morning.”

“Morning?” he said blearily, glancing up at the stars.

“It won’t be dawn for another hour but it is still morning and by afternoon we will be in Fraldarius territory. Rodrigue will be a better host than my father. He won’t be happy about me dragging Felix off to Garreg Mach but he will let Felix do what he wants. He always has. And he’ll at least feed us some hot supper and let us thaw out a bit before we set out on our way to Galatea to fetch Ingrid,” Sylvain said.

“How did we…?” Ferdinand blinked again and cleared his throat, reaching up to rub his throbbing head.

“I broke you out and ran off with you. Quite the heroic exploit and very romantic,” Sylvain said with a laugh. “Too bad you were unconscious for it. Now you’ll never know what is fact or fiction when I regale you with the epic rescue story.”

“I shall know,” Ferdinand said. 

Sylvain laughed again, quieter this time and softer. “Yeah, you know me too well for bullshit, I guess.”

Ferdinand put his hands over Sylvain’s and clasped them tightly, too lightheaded to be able to string together the words for what he wanted to say. His heart was very full but his mind was also very blurry.

“I’m so sorry,” Sylvain murmured after a minute and Ferdinand felt him lean in to press his lips against the side of his head. “I should never have allowed him to take you. I…”

Ferdinand twisted around in the saddle so he could face him and before Sylvain could continue apologizing, he caught his mouth and kissed him. His lips were cold and fumbling but Sylvain kissed him back with astonishing tenderness.

“There,” Sylvain whispered when they parted. “No more talking for a while. You need to rest and let those healing spells settle in. We can talk when the sun comes up. For now we need to focus on making it through the last leg of the solstice.”

Ferdinand wanted to argue, but he was too exhausted and he allowed himself to relax into Sylvain’s arms instead and close his eyes.

When he opened his eyes it was to a hint of light on the horizon.

Their horse slowed to a halt and Sylvain climbed stiffly down from the saddle, helping Ferdinand down as well. They both stamped their feet to bring some feeling back into them and huddled deeper into their cloaks, shivering. Then at last Ferdinand began to feel a bit more awake and alive.

Sylvain held open his coat and Ferdinand dived underneath it, throwing his arms around Sylvain’s waist and hugging him as Sylvain wrapped the coat around them both.

“Man, fuck Faerghus,” Sylvain said.

“Indeed,” Ferdinand agreed, then added recklessly in a whisper, “Fuck Faerghus.”

Sylvain laughed in disbelief. “Ferdie! Language! Good goddess, you kiss me with that mouth!”

Tipping his head up, he kissed Sylvain defiantly and Sylvain kissed him back until they were both breathless.

“What do you say to stopping for a bit to warm up?” Sylvain asked.

When Ferdinand nodded, he walked away over to the trees lining the road and hacked off several branches with a sword then returned. After much digging and scraping with his gloved hands, Sylvain cleared a circle of snow away to reveal the dirt beneath it where he carefully stacked the branches.

“There we go,” he said as he cast a small fire spell on the campfire until flames were crackling weakly across the branches. “This will probably burn out in half an hour but we can at least thaw out our hands a bit.”

He took a blanket from the saddlebag and spread it on the ground next to the campfire. Huddling by Sylvain, Ferdinand sat by the flames and held his hands out over it until feeling had somewhat returned to his limbs. He stole glances at Sylvain every few minutes, trying to gauge his expression and the uncharacteristic silence that hung over him, but he could not tell what was going on in his head.

“I thought you had decided to come with me to Garreg Mach when you made love to me,” Ferdinand ventured. “But afterwards I was convinced you had changed your mind and would not. How have you ended up here with me after such deliberation?”

Sylvain’s lips twitched in a faint, bitter smile. “Who says I was the one who made the choice?”

Ferdinand looked at him questioningly until he continued.

“I challenged my father. Pretty sure it was the first time I’ve ever truly done so. He took the Lance of Ruin and threw me out. He said I could go freeze to death out here for all he cared. I guess that left me with no other option then to come with you.”

Heart falling, Ferdinand nodded. “I see.”

“I would lie to you if I could and tell you I had a noble change of heart, but I respect you too much to do that,” Sylvain admitted. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“I am sorry to have caused you to lose your home and your standing with your father. You must have had to work hard to earn it over the years.”

“Yeah,” was the only reply Sylvain gave, staring moodily into the flames.

“I know that actions matter far more than intentions, but for whatever it may be worth, I did not mean to cause such a rift or to cause you pain. I meant only to bring you hope,” Ferdinand said.

“I know. Hope just isn’t something we’ve had a lot of here in Faerghus for a long time. I guess I wasn’t willing to gamble on hope. That is my failing, Ferdie, not yours.”

Ferdinand turned to face Sylvain and stared at him until he looked up to meet his gaze. “I will hope for the both of us, for long enough and with such determination that it will rub off on you and you will feel it too. Hope is all I have left. All any of us have left.”

Sylvain smiled at him and reached out to cradle Ferdinand’s face in his hand, brushing his thumb across his cheek. “You never know when to quit, do you?”

“I will never give up on you,” he insisted. “Never.”

Pulling him into his lap, Sylvain kissed him like a man starving, as if their previous intimacy had never happened and this was the first time he had kissed him, or anyone, in years, as if he was joyous and afraid at the same time and knew not how else to express it. 

Ferdinand had held onto hope for Fodlan, for his own life, with a steeled grip. The days he had wandered away from it upon losing his home and family had taught him the dangerous crippling emptiness of abandoning it. He had held out some hope for Sylvain too, faith he was not sure was placed wisely despite its sincerity. But now hope settled into confidence, into conviction.

He did not notice the dawn growing above them until their frantic affection turned to peace. Sylvain had tucked his head in the crook of Ferdinand’s neck and Ferdinand cradled the back of his head in one hand while the other wandered across his back in idle circles. The crackle of the campfire was dying along with its soothing heat, but as Ferdinand opened his eyes and looked around them, he forgot about the cold.

The crystals of ice clinging to the boughs of the pines were glittering in the white-gold light and the drifts of snow seemed to capture and hold the dawn with more brilliance than the sky itself.

“We should get back on the road,” Sylvain murmured, pressing his lips to Ferdinand’s neck.

“Hush,” Ferdinand whispered. “Just a few more minutes.”

Sylvain did not argue and Ferdinand wrapped his arms around him tighter, gazing out at the sunrise. 


End file.
